


The Viking Ghost

by NaughtyBees



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Blood, Descriptions of battle, Family, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: Button House didn't exist when Ingmar died, but now he's trapped there with the others, who don't seem to like him all too much.This is where I'll post fics for my Ghosts OC





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God I'm a sucker for huge men, why do I always do this

A sharp pain in his back. Knees buckling, the Viking didn't feel the floor as it broke his nose, dead before he hit the ground. Then, cold. Not like the freezing Norwegian winter. Like getting out of a sauna on a partly cloudy summer's day.  
He hadn't seen the English boy, hiding from the raid as the Norsemen carried their gold back to the camp. He didn't think his brothers in front noticed as he fell, their drunken singing far too loud. 

Ingmar looked down. Bear fur cloak, leather armour, large sword, long reddish hair with a plaited beard, swirling tattoos. Fatal axe wound. As he studied his own corpse, he realised with a small frown that he was dead. Vikings had no fear of death, but there was the nag at the back of his skull. This was no Valhalla. This was the same place as before. Did a child with a war axe not count as a battle? Perhaps it wasn't enough of a battle to permit entrance to Valhalla, but not the dishonourable death that would've sent him to Hel. 

"Big man."

Ingmar turned, looking down from his monumental seven feet seven inches tall. The figure was furred and strange, eyes wide. He smiled with crooked teeth and reached out a hand, touching the large palm of the warrior. "My name Robin." He pointed to himself. "Thought I was alone forever. But you, Big Man. You stay."

This strange man must have been dead too. Alone all this time. Ingmar felt for him, giving him a pat on the back so hard it almost winded him. Robin coughed, the splutters turning to laughs as he punched the Viking in the gut, yelping and shaking the pain from his hand. Ingmar smiled. Ingmar never smiled. He let himself be led by Robin, to what he could only suppose was his new home.

oOo

The others didn't like him. That was fine. They never liked to talk to him. That was fine too. Any room he entered was vacated one ghost at a time. This, also, was fine. He had Robin, someone he had relied on for… Ingmar counted on his fingers…1,276 years. 

"Funny man." Robin laughed, nudging his tall, silent friend. "Got furry lip."

The Captain cleared his throat as he peered out of the window. "It's called a moustache, Robin. I daresay mine is better."

Ingmar touched his beard, feeling a little superior where facial hair was concerned. He looked down at The Captain with a scowl, purely a way to get him to notice how majestic his beard was, but as they met eyes, The Captain excused himself with a half baked reason and left the room. 

Robin suddenly yelped, drawing Ingmar's attention to outside. "Funny man, he's got hit in the neck!" He wailed, clutching at his hair. "Is he okay?!" As Robin ran through the wall to investigate, Ingmar watched, head tilted. The blue thing the man had climbed into smashed into a tree, a low, constant noise coming from it. 

It wasn't long before the others rushed toward him, all flapping mouths and pointing fingers. They never wanted to be near him unless they were ushering him away so he didn't startle a new face. That was fine. He didn't mind sitting in the pantry until the new guy was a little more at ease with his own mortality. 

"Don't step on me!" Humphrey called as Ingmar trudged down the hallway. "Boots as big as yours, I wouldn't stand a chance."

He supposed he was right. Still, no harm in lending a hand. He lifted Humphrey's head and set him upright on a chair, making sure he wouldn't fall before turning to walk to his time-out corner. 

He wasn't sure why the other ghosts were so afraid of him. He'd never done anything to them. Or said anything to them. Perhaps it was the way Robin described his bloodsoaked past, the villages he razed and English folk he'd slaughtered. It could've been the large sword at his hip, that he liked to polish whenever he sat. Was it the bone necklace or the scars all over his skin? Perhaps it was the war axe protruding from his spinal column. Or how he towered over them saying absolutely nothing and glaring. Maybe it was the fact that if he concentrated hard on the living, he could turn their paranoia of the shadows into the mortal fear of what lurks within them. Hm. No, couldn't have been anything like that. Still, it was fine.

When Robin came to get him, it had been a week. A week by himself so the new ghost wouldn't be afraid of him. But it had been that way for most of the others, him cooped up so the transition from life to death was easier for them. But that was fine. 

He was so small. Ingmar almost smiled seeing his wide, startled eyes behind stupid glasses, knees together and hands wrung as he stared skyward. This man was no warrior, as The Captain was. No, he was a weakling, the sort that would've been put out to die at birth. 

Ingmar expected a whimper, or a scream, or a polite excuse and a swift exit, which would've been fine. He did not expect a hand, held out toward him, with a smile that was so bright that he felt as though it was warming him.  
"Hello, I'm Pat! You're tall, aren't you? I like your beard, very fashionable! What can I call you?" 

After a small pause, the Viking took the small man's hand in his own, the size difference almost comical, and roughly shook his whole arm, something that seemed to amuse Pat as his glasses were knocked askew. He massaged his shoulder with a wince when he was released, still smiling.  
"Ingmar Skaldsson." He rumbled, the others startled at the sound of his voice. 

"Ingmar! I like it!" Pat chimed with all the happiness of someone who didn't just have their arm almost ripped out of its socket by a 7'7" Viking ghost. "I was thinking of setting up some nice group activities, so we can all get a chance to know each other. Would you like to speak at the first meeting of Food Club?" 

Ingmar shook his head. 

"Ah, more of a listener, eh?" 

Ingmar nodded. 

"That's no problem, mate! No problem at all!" With a clap on the arm that was probably harder than it felt, Pat moved to speak to someone else. 

"Hey, Big Man." Ingmar turned toward Robin. "You okay?" 

Ingmar's lips tugged into possibly one of the first smiles that century. He'd found a very oddly shaped man who seemed to not mind how intimidating he was. He had someone other than Robin to spend time with. 

He was fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just be posting random bits about Ingmar now

Pat shuffled toward Ingmar, smiling as he looked up and up at him. "Hey, mate! How are you doing?" 

Ingmar shrugged and nodded. 

"Good! Good…" Pat rocked on his heels. "I was just wondering…Since Julian hasn't really met you yet…Would you like to speak at the next club meeting?" He nudged him. "I mean, I've been here for over ten years and I've only heard you speak twice." 

Ingmar shook his head.

"Oh, come on. We've all been showing each other what was on us when we died." He smiled. "You're a Viking. It might be interesting. The others could grow to like you a little more too."

With a sigh, Ingmar nodded, conceding. 

"Great! Brilliant! Okay, everyone's waiting, let's go!" Pat turned and trotted downstairs, Ingmar following, one step for three of Pat's. He wasn't sure that the others would like him too much, but hopefully Pat would smooth things over. 

The other ghosts looked up as Ingmar walked in, and Julian, seeing him for the first time, seemed shocked. He got to his feet, a little used to being the tallest, fiddling with his tie nervously. "Ah, hello…I don't believe we've met. Julian Fawcett, MP." He held out a hand. 

Ingmar looked toward Pat, who nodded. He took Julian's hand and shook it, almost pulling him over. Julian squeaked softly and straightened up. "Yes, well…" He sat down, and Pat gestured to a chair for Ingmar. He sat down with a grunt, looking around at the others. It was quite clear they didn't want to be near him, but he didn't mind. 

"Right! So… Last week, The Captain gave a lovely presentation about all of his things, and I, personally, thought it was great." Pat smiled. "But now, Ingmar would like to give a talk."

The clap was slow and scattered as Ingmar and Pat swapped places, the huge Viking standing in the center of the room. He frowned a little and looked at Pat with a shrug. Pat gestured. "Show us what you have and tell us about it."

Ingmar shrugged and pulled off his bearskin cloak, letting it fall to the floor. "Bear." He rumbled. "Killed and skinned it myself. Warm." 

He stretched, his massively muscular, scarred arms decorated with swirling tattoos. The Captain cleared his throat a few times, sitting up straight. He unsheathed his sword and turned it this way and that, showing the others as the light glinted off it. "Sword. Had it since I was a boy." He dropped it on his cloak, hand moving to his neck, pulling a pendant free. "Thor's hammer. Very important." Moving to his pockets, he showed the room a small drawstring bag of coins. "Stole these." He then pulled out a little hand carved wolf made of bone, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turned it in his fingers. "My daughter made me this. To bring me good luck. Well…" He turned a little to show the axe in his back and shrugged. "I love it anyway. She was very talented, I kept every little thing she made me."

The others looked at each other with small frowns as Ingmar rubbed his thumb over the wolf. Pat blinked hard to fight tears. Large hands fumbled with pockets and Ingmar pulled out a small stone. "Runestone. To keep me safe. Also didn't work." He shrugged as he pulled the last item from his pocket, something brown attached to a leather string. 

"And what's that?" Pat asked with a smile. 

"When my wife was raiding, she brought me this as a token of her esteem." Ingmar seemed wistful, tilting his head as he looked at it. "It's a monk's, ah… reður?" He gestured downward, and the others gasped, beginning to clamour amongst themselves. 

Pat stood quickly. "Well, thank you, Ingmar! That was an, ah…educational talk." 

Julian raised a hand. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand, why would your wife want to gift you a monk's…monkhood?"

Ingmar smirked. "Because it's really _really_ funny."

The men in the room crossed their legs or placed their hands over their laps as Ingmar collected his things back up, sword his hand. He suddenly looked outside, seeing snowflakes begin to drift from the grey sky. "Heh." He looked down. 

"What's up?" Pat asked, glancing at him. 

"Reminds me of home. Very cold winters in Holmnuptr… I miss it. I miss my family. I miss being around people who enjoy my company."

As a hand was placed on his muscular arm, he looked down at Pat. "You're not alone. We all miss home. But don't worry, we enjoy your company. I'll make sure, we'll all make sure, that you're included from now on. Right, guys?" 

As guilty looks flitted from the faces staring at the two, they all nodded. The Captain stood with a crackle of joints, stepping forward. "I'm sorry we haven't been too friendly with you. Frankly, you're quite intimidating…"  
Ingmar looked down at himself. He couldn't see it, but alright.   
"If it's alright with you, Ingmar, we could all go outside and watch the snow? Since you seem to like it."

With a wide, almost manic grin, Ingmar lifted The Captain, making him yelp and squirm in his grasp. As he placed him on one shoulder, The Captain held onto his arm, eyes wide with both fear and gay panic. Pat cried out as he, too, was lifted, carried under Ingmar's arm as easily as if he were a pillow. As the massive viking marched off, Pat squeaked back to the others.   
"Come on! Let's go!" He said, legs kicking slightly.


	3. Chapter 3

Alison and Michael. Strange names, but names always seemed strange nowadays. Apparently, the others wanted them gone, and Ingmar didn't see why. They were nice enough, very loving and high spirited. It reminded him of when he and Silje first met, over a horn of mead, still spattered in Englishman's blood. They could make each other smile no matter what. 

Ingmar didn't want to drive them away, so when the plan to haunt them was in full swing, he refused an offer to join in, instead going to sit in his usual spot, away from everyone. He'd have no part in the silly schemes, hotel or not. Frankly, more people sounded good. He was very much used to a close knit community when he was alive, and having only two people who liked him didn't sit well. 

Then, Julian pulled a terrible, dishonourable stunt, pushing Alison from the window. Killing should be done steel on steel, not in such a cowardly way. Her survival was remarkable, and Ingmar soon forgot about how disgruntled he was when he was once more bundled into his waiting spot. 

He wouldn't stand for this. A living person could see them, he didn't want to be hidden away like a leper. He wanted to join in with the fun. So he did. 

He would walk up to Alison, hold out his hand and introduce himself, just like Pat had all those years ago. He wouldn't say 'I am Ingmar Throat-Ripper', as he might have liked to, he'd just say his name nicely like a gentleman and try not to be too scary about it. There was no way it could go wrong. 

He wondered if his cloak made him intimidating at all, and he decided to take it off to be on the safe side, setting it on a chair. Perhaps the sword too. He unsheathed it, just as Alison walked around the corner, spotting him at the end of the corridor, freezing. 

Ingmar, entirely forgetting he was holding a greatsword in one hand, began marching toward her. He frowned when she took a step back and quickened his pace, wondering why she staggered back with a scream of fright. He grunted and gave chase, determined to give her the handshake, knowing that's what gentlemen did. 

"MIKE!" Alison screamed as she ran full pelt down a corridor. "OH MY GOD, MIKE!" 

Thomas looked through the wall, wondering what the ruckus was, and immediately saw Ingmar rushing toward his fair Alison, sword in hand. He yelped and immediately did what was necessary, turning tail and running away. 

Alison pressed against the wall, whimpering as Ingmar stepped forward, staring up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, trembling violently. He held out a hand, making her flinch, his face drawn into an unintentional snarl as he concentrated. "Hello. I am Ingmar Throat-Ripper. Pleased to meet you." Damn it. Well, two out of three wasn't bad. 

With a blink, Alison tried to speak, her throat closed up. She swallowed thickly and stood, taking a breath. "I…never knew you were here."

Ingmar shrugged. "The others don't like me around."

Alison gave a nervous laugh, combing her fingers through her hair. "Can't think why!" 

"Me neither."

Taking a moment to steady herself, Alison swatted a hand through the Viking to reassure herself that he wouldn't be able to hurt her, watching as he swallowed the nausea. "Hm. So, Ingar--"

"Ingmar."

"Ingmar, sorry." She smiled, looking up at him. "Throat-Ripper is an unusual name."

He nodded, realising he still held his sword, sheathing it. "My first kill, I ripped out a man's throat with my teeth."  
Alison seemed a little taken aback so he held a hand up to reassure her. "It was a Holmgang. He would've killed me."

"Doesn't really make it better." Alison mumbled. 

As footsteps drew closer, Ingmar placed a hand on his sword, relaxing once he saw Mike, rounding the corner.  
"Ally! Are you okay, I heard screams." He panted, touching her shoulder.

Alison nodded. "Don't worry. Just saw a new ghost is all."

Mike blinked. "New as in recent!?" 

"God, no! No, I just hadn't seen him before." She smiled. "He says hello."

Mike bent his neck in the way he usually did while trying to talk to ghosts, looking around. "Hello?"  
Alison nudged him and pointed right at Ingmar's face so Mike could see whereabouts he was.  
"...Is he really that big?!" 

Alison nodded. "Looks over seven foot." She paused. "He said he's half Jotunn? If that means anything. Viking guy. Long ginger hair, one side shaved, scars, tattoos, leather armour. Big sword, I mean huge."

Mike exhaled. "So glad I can't see them." He shook his head and gave Alison a kiss on the cheek before getting back to it. 

"Hm. He's handsome." Ingmar folded his muscular arms, watching him go with a tilted head. 

"Hey!" Alison frowned up at him playfully. "Hands off, Beowulf."

"It's Ingmar."

She opened her mouth to explain but decided against it, shaking her head and leaving to follow Mike. 

It could have gone better but it also could have gone much worse, and that made Ingmar feel wonderful. 

oOo

Pat had commented on how talkative Ingmar had been for the past few days. Indeed, he'd been a lot more comfortable in recent days, the new people intriguing him. He liked to watch them working, although Alison didn't much like how he loomed. Still, the weight of his various personal troubles still weighed on him, new people or not. 

"Hey, what's up, Big Man?" Robin asked, sitting beside him on the sofa. "You look upset."

Ingmar shrugged as he sat back, folding his arms. "It's Misumarblot soon. I know we can't sacrifice anything, but I would still like to celebrate it…"

Robin put an arm as far around Ingmar's shoulders as he could, which wasn't too far. "We do Moonah ritual, we can do that!" Robin smiled in that sweet way that Ingmar liked and gave him a punch in the arm. "We tell others, it be fun!" 

Pat backtracked and walked through the door. "Somebody say fun?" He asked with a smile. 

Robin nudged Ingmar who sighed softly. "I want to do a ritual."

Pat grinned and clapped his hands. "Oh, that sounds great! I always have fun with Robin's ritual." He pulled up a chair, sitting and looking up at Ingmar with a smile. "Tell me everything."

Ingmar looked down, finding it easier to talk when he wasn't making eye contact. "We gather by the old oak, the most ancient tree in the forest, and pray to Odin for good fortune and a good harvest."

With a nod, Pat hummed. "We could certainly do that, if you don't mind giving all of us some more instruction?" 

The thought of doing his ritual perked him up a little and he nodded. 

"Great! Hang on, I'll get everyone together."

Ingmar was patient, standing so there was room on the sofa, waiting in the middle of the room Pat ushered everyone inside and sat himself. "Alright, Ingmar! Tell us all about this celebration!" 

Staring at the wall, eyes glazing over slightly as he chose his words, he began to speak. "We gather livestock, enemies, those who choose to die, and we bring them to the oldest oak in the forest. Under the watchful eyes of Hugin and Munin, Odin's ravens, we bring forth the enemies of our people, and we spill their blood that it might please him. We haul their bodies high into the branches of the sacred oak, an offering to the All-Father." A small smile tugged at his lips. "Then those of us who ask to be sacrificed are give the same treatment, their blood collected and spattered over us in celebration. Then the animals, each led willingly to slaughter, each killed, bled, and cooked, the people feasting in the shade of the oak, drinking and loving one another, praising Odin to bring us good fortune."

The room was silent. If the others had working stomachs, a few might be bringing up the contents of them. 

"You want to…do all of that?" Pat asked, a little pale. 

Ingmar shrugged. 

"I'm not going to be a part of this!" Fanny scoffed, getting up to leave. Kitty didn't give an excuse as she followed her without a sound. 

The others excused themselves too, Pat giving Ingmar a pat on the back as high as he could reach. "Maybe next time, eh?" 

Robin frowned a little, sidling up to Ingmar. He took his large paw in his hand and led him away, Ingmar following obediently. Robin understood him, even though he was often too distracted to spend much time with him. He appreciated Robin. 

"Hey!" Robin shouted, Alison startling and turning around. "Big Man want something."

Alison looked up at Ingmar with a frown. "Okay…?" 

"Well…" Ingmar looked down at Robin, who smiled up at him. "...It's about Odin."

oOo

It wasn't much, a bowl of beer and an offering of meat beneath the only oak tree on the property, Ingmar's pedant resting beside it, but it was enough. As he knelt below the sheltered boughs, he felt a smile split his face, wider than he'd smiled in years. He'd never been able to place offerings before, but now he could, his hands clasped around the hilt of his sword as he uttered an old Norse prayer to Odin and Thor, feeling connected to them once more.

"All okay for you?" Alison asked once he'd finished. 

Standing to his full height, Ingmar nodded. "Means a lot. Thank you."

Alison smiled and nodded. "It's no Blot, but it's the best I could do. Any time you want me to do it again, just come to me." 

A large raindrop plopped onto Alison's head and she looked up at the dark clouds, frowning. "Uh oh… I'll see you later!" She began running for cover as a torrent of rain broke from the sky, so heavy they felt like bullets.  
As she left, Ingmar picked up his pendant and sheathed his sword, breathing deep the smell of damp soil. A rumble above made him grin so wide it hurt, lightening leaving imprints on his retina. Even after all this time, his gods hadn't abandoned him. He regretted ever doubting. 

Sauntering back to the house, he laughed to himself, as deep and booming as the thunder, feeling truly content for the first time in a very, very long time.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hodor Swift-Blade has killed your mother. He awaits at your farm to challenge you to a holmgang for possession of it."

He was 14. He had minimal muscle mass, stocky but not all too strong, his chin bearing a few ginger whisps. Holding a sword was difficult, only his wood axe was light enough to swing.   
Ingmar didn't believe the words at first; there was no way his Mamma could be dead. He'd check, just to prove it. But there she was, clad in her favourite yellow dress, now stained crimson. He didn't see Styrbjorn anywhere, and hoped his brother was safe. As the crowd gathered to see the Holmgang, his heart weighed him to the spot, chest quivering with barely restrained sobs, knuckles white as he gripped his axe. 

His enemy was patient, his sword still red with a sheen of his mother's blood, waiting for Ingmar to wipe his eyes free of tears so he could see. His face was red, eyes puffy, nose streaming.. 

"I'll give you a head start, boy." The larger man growled down at Ingmar. "Then I'll spill your guts."

His arms quivered as he lifted the axe, chest fast with breath, throat closing up. Odin had clearly forsaken him, but for what purpose? He had been loyal to the Gods all his life. Fingers tightening around the axe handle, Ingmar closed his eyes. He couldn't have been forsaken. Was this a test? A challenge of might, like when Thor visited Útgarð? 

"I'm waiting, boy! Hurry up so I can watch you rot in Helheim with your mother."

All feelings of sorrow were replaced by rage. He bared his teeth and screamed, charging forward, axe aloft. Hodor was too surprised to react as the axe splintered his shin, crying out as he fell backwards. Ingmar balled his clothes in his little fists, the momentum of such a large man falling taking him with him. He landed on top of him, kneeling on his balls as hard as he could, the pained howl allowing him to push forward. 

He barely thought, his teeth biting into Hodor's neck, the tear of sinew as Ingmar bit as hard as he could and pulled back, hearing the other Viking choke and gurgle on his own blood, his struggling body becoming limp, twitching here and there.   
Ingmar spat out the chunk of flesh, the tang of blood at the back of his tongue making him feel queasy. He stood, the gathered crowd beginning to cheer for the young victor, slapping his back with merriment as he walked toward where his mother lay. 

She wasn't heavy. Not anymore. Not after what he'd just done. He knew he was different, he could feel it. Everything would change for him, but, Odin willing, it would all turn out okay. 

oOo

The screams had died down hours ago, although fire still licked at the village behind them, casting their shadows long across the grass. The faces around the campfire were pink with a bloody sheen, flecks of viscera like service medals, teeth glinting with wide grins as the comedown of slaughter gave all a blissful buzz.   
A horn of mead was pressed into Ingmar's tired hands and he gripped it hard, feeling it creak, threatening to split. It was cool and welcome on his tongue, quenching the hoarse thirst that came from too many battlecries. 

"I was watching you out there." A voice came from his left, and he glanced at the woman sat beside him. "You're a really good fighter."

Ingmar shrugged, draining his horn with a gulp. 

"I'm Silje. We haven't talked much before." She smiled, passing him a cooked rabbit haunch. "I own the farm by the ship builder."  
Nodding and accepting the food, he began to pick at it, looking at her. She was broad, her eyes a sparkling green, her jaw square, white-blonde hair in a tight braid. She scratched her large nose, shuffling a little closer to him. "You're not married, are you? Don't suppose you'd fancy having sex some time?" 

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, smirking. "You're very direct."

She leant on his bent knee, her grin wide. "Why bother with the pleasantries?" 

Ingmar shook his head, swallowing his mouthful. "I'm not that kind of man."

Silje nodded with pursed lips. "You'd rather be courted?" She asked, sitting up so she wasn't touching him. 

Nodding, he smiled a little, then moved to get some more mead, not noticing how her eyes lingered on him. 

oOo

_"SHIELD WALL!"_

The positioning was swift, an unbreakable chain of shields, each Viking relying on their brothers to protect them. Ingmar’s voice was one of a hundred, screaming a war cry in unison, the old Norse echoing across the battlefield. Arrows rained on the army, not a single one getting through. Ingmar grit his teeth as he braced himself, the thunder of the Saxon throng rushing forward.   
Axes and swords clashed against the shields, and the Vikings held strong, unmoving, steady. Pikes began to force themselves through the gaps in the shield wall, Ingmar watching his friend Sigurd go limp, the sharp metal piercing his eye socket. He swiftly kicked his corpse, his hand moving to hold his shield to protect the others in the formation. The middle of the wall was bowing slightly, boots sliding in the slick mud as the Saxon army pressed their efforts. 

_"OPEN!"_

Instantly, the shields parted. The Saxons leaning against them fell forward into the mud, the ones behind them trampling them as they rushed into what they thought was a victory.   
Three Viking archers peppered them with arrows, axes and swords hacking at them as they fell. 

Ingmar bellowed as he swung his sword, beheading one of the soldiers with one swift movement, tasting blood as he was spattered with the spray. This is what he lived for. The thrill of battle. Knowing that Odin would protect him. 

oOo

"How could you not notice?" Silje asked as she gripped the hilt of the dagger protruding from his shoulder. "You're a fucking monster if you have to be _told_ that you've been stabbed." As she swiftly yanked the blade from his flesh, she pressed a compress to the wound, noticing how he hardly flinched. 

Ingmar grunted. "It is a small dagger." He mumbled as she passed him it. 

Silje laughed softly. "You silly bastard." She began to bandage him, taking care not to hurt him. Despite how he didn't notice a dagger in his back. "I'm sorry about Sigurd."

"May Odin keep him." Ingmar said as he twirled the dagger between his fingers. 

As Silje sat beside him, she nudged him, and he looked at her. "I got you something, since you said you wanted to be courted." 

Ingmar raised his eyebrow. "You want to court me?" 

"Surprised nobody has already." She pulled a brown object from her pocket and passed him it, watching his confusion as he inspected it, tilting his head. When he looked at her, she smirked. "A souvenir from my first raid, to bring you luck." She paused a moment. "It's a monk's penis."

A booming laugh rang out in the dark of the night, Ingmar clapping his hands as he doubled over, beside himself with glee. 

oOo

"Who am I again?" Ingmar asked. 

"You're Jörmungandr!" 

"And you're Thor?" 

"Pabbi!" The little girl scowled, folding her arms. "I'm Odin! I'm always Odin!" 

Ingmar smirked. "I always forget. You've got two eyes, you don't look anything like Odin."

Frøya took a running leap, and Ingmar lifted her, her kicking legs and punching fists not getting anywhere near his face. Her eyes were bright green and mischievous, just like Silje's. But she had his red hair, wavy and plaited. He threw her into the air and she giggled, swinging her around and tickling her as he held her under his arm. 

"Jörmungandr gets his prey again." Ingmar chuckled, poking her nose, grunting as she sank her teeth into his finger. "You'll make a good shield maiden, little cub. You never give in."

As he lifted her to his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his head, hugging it tight. "When are you going raiding, Pabbi?" 

Ingmar leant down to put away Frøya's toys, not worrying about her being unable to stay clung to him. Silje joked that she was like a tick, she wouldn't move unless you pried her off. "In two days."

"Please don't go." She said softly. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I have to go, little cub." He said, not really wanting to leave either. But Silje could look after the farm while he was gone. "I'll be okay. Odin will keep me safe."  
Frøya sniffled slightly and Ingmar frowned, pulling her from his head, cradling her in his strong arms. "Don't cry, my sweet. I'm tough. No man will hurt me." He kissed her cheek, stroking her hair gently. "I'll come home to you."

Frøya snuggled into his chest, her tiny hand pushing into his beard, twirling his hair around her finger. "Promise?" 

Ingmar chuckled and squeezed her tight. "I promise."


End file.
